


Knock, Knock, Knock

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 21:09:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21259700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The door knocker floated in the middle of the wall.  What will happen if they dare raise that golden bar and let it fall?  Who will answer?  Do they really have the courage to find out?  Well, with Garrison's crew, do you really have to ask?  With each goading the others along, it was a given!But when the men of the Mansion succumb to the temptation, and let the unknown in amongst them, will two less-than-mundane friends be able to prevent that new presence from taking new victims?  Only the dawn of what the Outlanders sometimes called All Saints' Day would tell for sure.





	Knock, Knock, Knock

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I already POSTED my Halloween stories, but the muse threw this one into the hopper at the last minute.
> 
> The Sprite in the Attic previously appeared in 'Halloween Night at the Mansion' and 'A Valentine's Day Sprite', along with 'Just A Little Run of Bad Luck'.

It was just passing through, All Hallows Eve being a time when the Veil between the 'Here' and the 'There' being especially thin. It wasn't much, that little space of time, not like what had been allowed in the old days. 

It, HE, still snarled every time he thought of that, those Others who had decided he should be kept beyond that Veil. From what he saw on THIS side, the mundane creatures would be all the better for a little more of his attentions. 

Well, they hadn't been totally successful, those smug and arrogant Others, so high-and-mighty in their judgement of him. {"And just who do they think they are anyway, judging ME. They are not made of pure light either!"} He might not be able to pass through at will, anymore, but at least this one night of the year, Samhain, he found it surprisingly easy. Oh, he garnered a few scorched scales, perhaps, but that was a price he was quite willing to pay for the enjoyment he found.

Now, as he glided through the countryside, he spotted two potential places for releasing his powers on this night when he was, if not at his strongest, at least powerful enough to wreak a little havoc. He know, deep inside, that he might never be at his strongest again, and that made him snarl once again at those who had decided to limit his power, his access to ready victims. 

Well, he might not be at his own personal best, but these pitiful creatures would never know that. To them, he would be the epitome of the darkness, that which made them moan and scream, and possibly, that which tore their very souls from their weak, sniveling bodies. Just before he tore those same bodies into as many pieces as he desired. His eyes glowed, and his mouth watered as he remembered the old days, the destruction and carnage he'd laid down across the land.

Well, he had to admit, maybe he didn't do that so much anymore, but he could sure lay out some wicked nightmares. And his physical presence still was enough to give more than a few a heart attack, or a palsy attack or something similar, he reminded himself as he admired his horns and scales and long club-like arms tipped with those heavy claws. And his face? A devilish work-of-art!

He DID miss the good old days, when he HAD done his share and more of tearing things to pieces! Blast the Others and their stupid, interferring restrictions!!

He'd never brunted it around, that he had things he wasn't allowed to do anymore, not on purpose, anyway. Hopefully no-one hereabouts would know that. Sometimes he created almost as much mayhem as before, just by scaring them with their own worst nightmares, only kicking them up a few notches. Of course, he did have a few other tricks up his sleeve that added to his enjoyment.

He reached into the pouch he wore at his side, smiling at the feel under his clawed fingers. He'd found this many, many years ago, and found it an amusing thing, enough so he'd left the owner alive in return for taking that trinket with him. 

He drew it out, held it up to the moonlight to admire it once again. A golden doorknocker, the snarling, terrifying face actually resembling one he occasionally wore. The one he wore tonight, actually.

And that inscription had been just so, soo appropriate! 

'Knock three times, ye wha dare,  
An welcome bidding to declare.  
Of he who enters, ye maun beware!'

Of course, it worked backwards to the way a doorknocker generally did, as befitted any trinket in his possession. 

And he found it amusing, as well, as he always did, to think of letting the mortals actually do the summoning. Usually it was the one on the outside who used a doorknocker, knocked, then a door opened letting the one outside enter a dwelling. He DID like to be original, though, and THIS little item of adornment required those on the INSIDE to do the knocking, opening the way for HIM to enter and do as he pleased. 

Oh, there was no need, of course. On this night he could probably go where he wished, enter without invitation, do as he pleased without any to tell him 'no'. Well, he had some small difficulty with what were called 'holy' places, but they were not insurmountable difficulties, as many of the black-robed priests had found, to their everlasing dismay. He found the memory of them chanting, holding up their crosses and smoking thuribles, such certainty on their faces as he pretended fear, pretended retreat. Then their screams of panic as he turned and laughed and chased them. Ah, that was a lovely sight!

But still, the thought of any of the mortals actually ASKING him to enter, that made him give one of his rare smiles of approval. After all, he'd encountered few who could resist lifting that golden bar and giving a few sound raps on the golden plate below.

"Well, they can't say they didn't issue the invitation, now can they?" he chuckled, his voice like fingernails on a chalkboard, and that smile came again. That smile had been known to turn a person's hair white from one second to the next, and most understandably.

"Now, where do I start?" he pondered, casting his mind outward to pick up traces of the mortals, to gauge the possibilities. His coiled and forked tongue flicked out to taste the wind, and he turned toward a large structure on the horizon.

The Sprite in the Attic felt the disturbance as another of the less-than-mortal realm entered what she now considered her territory. Flitting out to cautiously investigate the origin, she slammed to a halt, appalled at what was coming through the woods. 

{"I haven't seen one of those in, in, well, in forever! But I've heard the stories, and none of them are pretty!!"}

Frantically she cast a look at the village beyond, and back to the big house behind her, where those she thought of as 'her boys' were enjoying this night with merry tales and strong drink and treats the red-haired Dragon from the Cottage had brought them earlier. 

SHE had no power strong enough to combat this new danger. She was only a small sprite, after all, capable of only small mischiefs and small magics. All of her instincts told her to fly away, as far as she could, hide til dawn came, away from a being that had the ability to swat her into non-existence as if she'd been only a fly on the wall. 

Still, her boys! Ah, her sweet boys!

No matter how tricksie or clever or inventive they might be, and they were certainly that, they had no defenses against what was coming. Well, perhaps the one called Chief, he might have some, perhaps even more than a little, both that which was gifted to him by his ancestors, and what little she had shared with him that Valentine's Day night, but hardly enough to protect them all. Perhaps not even enough to protect himself, not against the night-creature, the very embodiment of Samhain, in all his terror.

Her eyes shifted to the small row of cottages on the outskirts of the village, partway between the village and the big house. {"SHE might, though, have enough power to defend them! At least, perhaps enough to send him on his way without their lives and souls being lost!"}

And the small sprite shot away, wings moving so quickly as to be only a blur in the mist.

Meghada had been deep in thought, standing in her garden, feeling the disturbance, trying to ferret out the cause of that ripple of unease that had come to her just moments ago. 

She would have been tempted to bring out the silver bowl, do a scrying, but that would take too much energy, too much concentration. 

On this, what the Outlanders called All Hallows Eve, there was too much potential danger for her to use her energy unnecessarily; she just might need every bit she possessed. And a scrying would only give her hints of the future; what she was feeling was far more immediate in nature.

A partial shift, not much of one, just her head, letting her mouth gape open, her tongue elongate and extend to taste the wind, letting her eyes glow as she let her senses reach out. 

She was so engrossed, the sudden appearance of a small being directly in front of her nose, one frantically waving its arms, fluttering its wings, came as more of a shock than it might have been otherwise. It wasn't the first visit made by the small sprite, but never before had the dainty lady in moss green and pink been in such a taking!

Of course, she wasn't the only one taken aback; the sprite hadn't quite been expecting Meghada in her partial-glory, and it took awhile before the sprite stopped screeching and settled down enough to tell her story.

Garrison had not gone with them when they'd headed over to the barracks to hear the assortment of scary stories as put out by the guards, but had been there to welcome them when they returned. 

"Anything of particular note?" he'd asked of the laughing and chattering men when they came in.

"Oh, and before you tell me, Meghada stopped by, left a basket for us. Some decent whiskey, some special treats." 

He saw Goniff's eyes light up, and Garrison laughed. "And be glad it was me here, not Goniff, or there'd be nothing left by now. But I intend to share; she said that was an order, and those cookies smell great! Oatmeal with walnuts, and shortbread with hazelnuts and currants, she said."

They all climbed the stairs at a fast pace, Goniff chattering about "that one story, about the cat w'at 'ides under your bed, and comes out at midnight! That was one I could 'ave done without! Enough things tend to show up in the dark; don't need that along with!" 

Casino slapped him on the shoulder, causing the smaller man to stumble forward a couple of quick steps. Ignoring the glare he got once Goniff regained his footing, Casino declared, "yeah, but it does give a whole new slant on that old saying 'cat's got yer tongue', ya know."

That got a disgusted groan from everyone, including Garrison, not needing any further description of that story to get the general idea. 

{"No, not something I want to be thinking about after bedtime either!"}

They'd laughed and joked and told Garrison some of the stories the guards had come up with, but he'd bowed out of hearing their own contest entries. That one about the cat had been more than he'd wanted, and a couple of the others had pushed a few buttons too.

Once he'd left, they decided to move over to the Common Room where they'd be more comfortable.

"Whoa, who put that up there?" Goniff exclaimed, his eyes immediately going to the bright and shining object on the wall. Well, he WOULD have been the first to notice, of course; it was the sort of thing that would have grabbed his attention at most any time - gold, bright and shiny gold, and something not quite in the usual vein.

The others walked over and took their own good look, but no one would admit to the doing, so he and the others shrugged it off, though their eyes kept going back to it throughout their storytelling.

Stories were swapped and wondered at, and occasionally torn apart by the resident critics.

'Sow-in'," Casino laughed. "Sounds like what you'd call a pork stew if you wanted to get fancy!" at the conclusion of Actor's entry into the Scary Story contest.

Actor sighed, once again taking on the role of instructor to the backward and uneducated. It DID seem as if that was his designated role in life - or at least, at the Mansion.

"It is spelled S-A-M-H-A-I-N, though pronounced Sow-in, at least by the Irish. I believe the Scots have a slightly different spelling AND pronounciation. In any case, it reflects what you call Halloween, what the English and many others call All Hallows Eve. October 31st."

Goniff shuddered, "I'm fine with letting the rest of the stories go. After last year, I'm okay with us just 'aving a nice drink and eating the rest of those treats 'Gaida brought us, mates. Come on, you remember . . .?" he asked, raising his expressive brows in warning.

Yes, well, they were hardly likely to forget. Candles that kept relighting themselves. Roaches, lizards, toads, spiders, bats, and damn! those snakes that dropped out of the ceiling, one on Casino when he was naked in the shower! 

Still, time had dimmed the vividness of those memories, at least slightly, for the others, enough that Actor and Casino were eager to trade some more stories. 

Goniff and Chief had gone along, if somewhat reluctantly, either dug out of their memories, or even just dreamed up some scary stories. What they had to offer wasn't very scary, sometimes the others had a hard time finding anything scary there at all, and the two took some ribbing for that. 

Still, Goniff had to agree with Chief, somethings were just best not spoken of. Chief had glumly reminded them of what he'd been told in his early childhood, "some things, you go talking about them, makes it easier for them to come around, cause trouble."

As far as that odd doorknocker that Goniff had spotted when they made their way into the room, that had just seemed an odd sort of joke, maybe a prelude to one of the stories set to be told this evening. 

Still, no one claimed responsibility, though, if it was part of one of the guys' usual gags, they wouldn't have expected that, not yet anyhow.

Even when Actor brought out his magnifying glass and carefully read the inscription on the plate of the doorknocker, they didn't think any more of it than that, just part of a story in the planing. 

Though Casino couldn't resist scoffing when Actor was finished with his solemn intoning of those words.

"Sheesh, how cheesy can ya get??!" He put his best 'Actor-impersonation' face on, a professorial-look to say the least, and repeated those words.

'Knock three times, ye wha dare, An welcome bidding to declare. Of he who enters, ye maun beware!' 

"Where'd ya come up with that, Beautiful? That book of Grimm's Fairy Tales?"

Actor protested in vain, insisting he was only reading what was clearly written in that tiny script. 

With a mutual shrug, since the conman didn't seem interested in owning up to the prank, the others continued with their stories, Chief and Goniff again substituting some much milder ones for the truly-scary ones they'd earlier thought to be their submisssions. 

They declared a winner, not one of them, for a change, but Corporal Murphy down at the barracks - yes, that one with the cat really HAD captured their uneasy imagination!

"It's a shame the Dragon didn't stick around, join in," Casino declared. "Bet she's got some doozies!"

"Probably so, Casino, but 'Gaida thinks along the lines of Chiefy 'ere. There's certain things you don't talk about, not on 'alloween any'ow; too likely to draw in something you're not so much interesting in meeting, you know."

That got a hoot of sheer disbelief from Casino. "I can see you thinking stuff like that, maybe even the Indian. But the Dragon? Don't think she'd back away from much of anything."

"Even so, Casino. Think we've all 'ad enough for tonight," Goniff asserted, casting yet another quick glance over at that golden doorknocker. The others followed suit, and Casino reared back in his chair, tipped the last of his drink down his throat and stood up.

"Well, I'm not chicken, even if the rest of you are," he declared, and walked an unsteady path to stand in front of that gold nightmare of a face.

"Ei, Casino, don't . . ." Goniff protested, even as Chief exclaimed, "Pappy, don't be an idiot!"

Even Actor had a certain look of well-bred dismay on his face as the three thuds - louder than you would have thought - rang through the room. It was impossible, of course, for the floor to have actually trembled under their feet, but the thought DID cross each of their minds.

A little unsure of the wisdom of his actions, now, but not ready to let anyone know that, he pushed the bravado another few inches. In a regal imitation of Actor's voice, Casino recited the bit of doggerel once again.

'Knock three times, ye wha dare,  
An welcome bidding to declare.  
Of he who enters, ye maun beware!'

"Alright, so I dared! Who's next?" Casino had challenged them, and much against their better judgment, each of the others slowly made their way and answered that dare, at least as far as using that knocker, though none was so bold as to repeat that verse, not again.

"Okay, we'll just wait and see who shows up!" he said mockingly. 

But no one did, and fifteen minutes later, after one last drink, they made their way to the Dorm to settle in for the night. 

The moaning, the yells, the cries for help, the screams - those started within the half-hour. Garrison came in the door at a run, revolver in hand, flipping on the lights, to see each of the men poised around the room, breathing hard, sweat-covered, wild-eyed. Their explanations were similar to the one Goniff gave him. 

"A ruddy nightmare, Warden, like w'at you'd never believe!!!" The pickpocket was an odd combination of dead-white, mostly, with a pale green slowing creeping up to claim his face. Everyone agreed, and no one seemed interested in providing details, Goniff least of all. 

Garrison was fine with that; he'd just gotten to sleep when that damned story about the cat under the bed had jolted him awake, to be followed swiftly by the commotion from the Dorm. No, he didn't want to hear anyone's nightmares, not unless it was truly necessary.

The next time it was Casino, and he'd insisted on babbling out what none of them needed to hear. 

"Snakes. Big ones, little ones, all sizes. Droppin outta the ceiling, sliding out of the drawers and cabinets, in the beds, even pouring outta the whiskey bottle when you'd try and take a drink! Chief here was standing there, sounding like Beautiful, tellin us how good snake was in stuff - snake stew, roasted snake, coiled up on crackers like those damned fish eggs we keep hearing so much about! Sheesh!"

No, that didn't help Garrison get back to sleep. But then, that was probably okay, since it was less than twenty minutes later than Actor was shouting in Italian, crouched up on the top of the desk in the corner like a maiden lady faced with a mouse. Obviously he was still lost in whatever had latched onto his mind, because his eyes were wide and frantic as he shouted warnings to them.

"Get up out of their reach! They will pull you down and devour you! Craig, behind you!!!"

In spite of himself, Garrison whirled, looked in vain for any danger. By the time he'd turned back around, the tall Italian was starting to come round, though it would be awhile before his heartrate approached anything like normal.

It was with a sheepish, if still slightly wary look, Actor explained.

"Zombies. The buried dead, returned to life, reaching up their decaying arms to pull down the unaware. I remember the stories from my time in the West Indies, and found them most disconcerting, though I have not thought of them in many years."

"Guys . . . ". Garrison didn't even know what to say, so settled for saying nothing. He had started to leave, started to flick the light switch, but then hesitated. No, he'd let them decide if they wanted the light on or off, and he wouldn't embarrass them by asking, either. He walked out, closed the door, leaving the light on.

The guys had settled back in before Garrison was out the door. As the door shut, and the light flicked off, they gave a joint groan, though only Goniff had the honesty to complain out loud.

"Don't see why 'e 'ad to go and turn off the light. Wouldn't 'ave done any 'arm to leave it on, just til morning."

But none got up to turn it back on again.

Chief didn't scream, or yell - he barely let out a low moan, but his terror was no less than theirs had been.

He was standing in the middle of a vast plain, comfortable in his place, comfortable with the people going about their business around him. Til the land started to dissolve, at the far edges, and the people, those who accompanied him on the land, sank into the rising water and the mud and tar pits. Rapidly the land was disappearing, and just as quickly, the people. He was in the center, on a small rise, and would be the last to survive, but that was small comfort. To survive, alone, on a tiny speck of land. Alone, for what remained of his miserable life. Alone

His moans weren't enough to bring Garrison, but they did bring the others, Goniff and Casino clasping his shoulders, gently shaking him awake, pulling him into an upright position to sit on the edge of the cot til his breathing slowed down.

"You alright now, Chiefy?" Goniff asked, his voice anxious.

"Yeah, Goniff. I'm alright," Chief replied, though he wasn't all that sure about that.

They all lay back down, and this time the nightmares struck each of them, all of them, and . . .

He was livid! It was going so beautifully, they were so frightened and their stench of fear was like the fragrance of spring flowers to him.

And then, there was something in between him and his hosts.

He squinted in the billowing darkness. One small figure, one of those nuisency little fae beings - one of the ones with wings. He seemed to remember them being quite tasty, if a little hard to catch, and he reached out one leathery hand to grab a quick snack. 

Roaring, he pulled his scorched hand back, and turned toward the source of that heat. A female. A human female, it would seem, except . . . Well, did human females have horns, and fangs and a tongue that would match his for length, except it didn't seem to be forked like his was? He was pretty sure human females didn't spit arrows of fire like this one just had!

Then that nasty little bit with the wings flew in close and tossed what felt like burning sand in his glowing orange eyes. Blast it! That HURT! This wasn't supposed to happen!

He swung his fist at the winged little bitch, and a hand with long, very sharp claws took a solid chunk out of his nether regions. Damn! That hadn't happened since he'd got overly aggressive with a female wyvern, a few centuries ago!! He didn't find it any more pleasant now than he had then.

He'd thought to awaken the sleeping men, the ones he'd entrapped in their nightmares, thinking that would cause these two females to leave him alone, but a shrill screech from the dainty one, a determined hiss and accompanying bellowing of fire from the larger one changed his plan of action.

{"I think I've done enough here, anyway. There's no shame in leaving it at this,"} he assured himself as he backed away from the two facing him, coming ever closer. Even the tiny one didn't look nearly so harmless anymore, not with those fireballs she was juggling. Closer and closer to the wall, then with a mad {"but dignified"} leap, he was out and fleeing.

The two followed, though the Sprite didn't follow far, just watched from the rooftop as the woman, now a full-fledged Dragon, gave chase. When the two disappeared out of sight, the Sprite returned inside, in turn soothing the troubled dreams of each of the men. She even took a trip down the hall, to erase the dreams of that cat with an odd taste in snacks from the dreams of the one they called the Warden.

She would expect the Dragon back when she saw her, but had full confidence that the visitor had met his match. Until then, she would look after and comfort her boys, her sweet boys. Well, THEIR sweet boys.

A weary Craig Garrison walked into the Common Room, file in his hand, only to stare at the object everyone ELSE in the room was staring at. It hadn't been there the day before, he knew that damned well. From the glum looks on the men's faces, they'd have been happier if it wasn't there now.

{"One MORE thing for the House Inspectors to get bent out of shape about! Well, whoever tacked it up there, they can just remove it! Besides, I don't think we need any more reminders of last night! These guys . . .!"}

He'd been awakened by the yells, the anguished cries, even a few outright screams, though he wasn't sure whose voices had made those horrifying sounds. 

Time after time, he'd pulled himself out of bed and down the hallway, into the room of disoriented and ill-tempered men, got things settled down, got back to sleep in time to start the process all over again. 

Then, as suddenly as it had started, sometime around 3 in the morning, it stopped. And, much to his annoyance, the silence had kept him awake the rest of the night, til dawn, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

He paused, listening to their safecracker going off on the others. 

"That's the last time! No more scary stories! I'm warning you guys. And whoever the wise guy was who put THAT up?" pointing at the gold doorknocker. "Still don't know how you managed all that, what happened after, but I ever find out, I'm gonna bust your ass but good!" 

No, Casino was NOT amused. 

Garrison watched the other three for some sign that might tell him which one had attached that large gold doorknocker in the middle of the wall of the Common Room. From the uncomfortable frowns and puzzled looks, though, it seems no one was willing to accept responsibility. 

(And considering it had been Casino who'd first USED that knocker, had dared the others to follow suit, the guys didn't really think it was fair him blaming THEM!)

Well, as far as Garrison was concerned, they ALL bore responsibility for the troubled night they'd all had. That Scary Stories contest hadn't seemed such a bad idea, not in the beginning, and for once had originated with the guards, not his four men. 

Well, it had certainly seemed less of a hazard than some of the other ideas being presented, and he had firmly nixed the idea of fixing up the basement as a 'haunted house' and inviting the locals in for a good scare. 

To his way of thinking, this house was already TOO haunted, and he had the uneasy feeling it didn't need any encouragement. No, that wasn't logical, he knew that, but logic had nothing to do with that atavistic warning-off he got at the first mention.

In fact, HE would have been well-contented to just pretend it was any other night, as if there had been two October 30th's in a row, not a 30th and a 31st, but no, that just wouldn't do, not for his guys. Of course, he had noted an increasing level of uneasiness on the parts of Chief and Goniff as the darkness began to fall outside, although the other two hadn't seemed to be affected.

Well, at least it was all over, and NEXT year, if they were still here, he'd put his foot down, ban that contest altogether.

"And someone take that blasted thing . . ." he started, only to stare blankly at the wall where that golden doorknocker had been just moments before. Now, there was nothing there, not even the finish on the paneling showing where it might have been attached. 

Garrison walked over, ran his fingers over the spot he knew damned well it had to have been, then shook his head briskly and turned to face his men.

"Alright, we've got a job. Gather round," firmly, with great effort, putting the previous night out of his mind. They had more important things to worry about, things a lot more dangerous than a golden doorknocker! 

And heaven help them all if the guys got their teeth into that NEW story making the way around the barracks, the village, the one the Sergeant Major had been all wide-eyed about when he'd first reported in that morning.

{"Yeah, all I need is for them getting spooked about that supposed 'fire-breathing dragon sighting' from last night. I'll NEVER get them settled down to business!"}

In the Cottage, the two females, one a Sprite, the other a Dragon, smiled at each other with weary satisfaction. They'd fought the battle, their joint efforts winning the fight, and then spent the rest of the night guarding the slumbers of those who rested there, in the barracks and village beyond. 

They hadn't THOUGHT he would make another effort, that creature of darkness; the singe marks were too evident on his scaly hide, and he had been leaking that foul-smelling yellow fluid from his wounds, but they wanted to make sure. The Sprite had remained behind, sprinkling ease and comfort on each of her boys, ever alert to any additional danger.

The Dragon had followed the intruder, getting in between every time he'd even slightly hesitated, thinking to turn toward the village or back to the Mansion. Only when he was truly gone, retreated to wherever he stayed the rest of the year, did she return to take up a sentry route around the Mansion and the village and all that dwelt within her and the Sprite's domain. 

It was probably best no other troublemaker - human or otherwise - came around. She'd just about lost her temper with that last intruder, and that did not bode well for any others that might think to try her patience tonight. 

{"Oh, well, it was still what I believe is called a win-win. We vanquished the dark one, AND I got a chance to spread my wings. Haven't done that in EVER so long, and I must admit it DID feel rather nice! Doubt I'll get another chance anytime soon."}

Two measures of bourbon were poured, one into a tall glass, one into the miniature hand-blown Venetian glass bud vase that Meghada used for a single violet or single snowdrop, and the two friends toasted their victory.

"To our boys, our sweet boys!" the Sprite proclaimed gaily.

"Aye, to our sweet boys. May the Sweet Mother protect them."

"Well, hopefully she will, but we'll help, you and me!" the tiny female in moss green and rose laughed, and Meghada laughed right along with her.

"Aye, my friend. So we shall!"


End file.
